Fatal Secrets - Desiree Holt Page 0,12
what to do when a sharp knock on her door made her jump. She swallowed and called out.
“Who—Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Zoe. Hank.”
She let out her breath, recognizing the familiar voice of Hank Patterson.
“Hold on.” She unlocked the door and flung it open. “Hank! W-what are you doing here?”
Not that she wasn’t glad to see him but he’d ask a lot of questions she didn’t necessarily want to answer. She could not let him in. He’d blow a stack and want to lock her away to keep her safe, so she stood in the doorway, blocking him.
“Are you kidding? You don’t answer texts or phone calls. My wife is going nuts, and when Sadie goes nuts, I have to do something about it. She sent me on a scouting mission. You know how my wife gets, especially where you’re concerned. And what the hell is that on the side of your car? Stop looking? What are you into now?”
Zoe felt the beginning of a headache building. Bad enough Hank showed up unannounced. And that he saw the remains of what was written on her car. But now he’d tell his wife, and they’d want to lock her away in a closet. And Sadie McClean, his wife and her very good friend, would support him.
Sadie was an internationally famous movie star. When she and Hank married, she’d cut way back on her acting. Since their daughter, Emma, was born, her appearances were almost nonexistent. But there was still a huge amount of interest in her. Zoe had met her when she interviewed the movie queen for a feature article, and they had become friends. Really good friends.
Zoe realized she’d made a mistake blocking all her messages and calls while she was working and researching the past three days. Except that wasn’t the real problem. She had been so distracted by Sean Sex-on-a-stick that she’d forgotten to turn everything back on, a no-no for a reporter or writer.
Damn!
“I’m so sorry, Hank. My dumb fault. I have this stupid habit of blocking everything when I’m deep into something. I was so wrapped up in what I was doing I forgot to turn everything back on. But you can see, I’m fine. I’ll call Sadie and reassure her.”
He shook his head. “Not a good idea staying out of touch, Zoe. Not with crap like that. And especially for a crime reporter. Tell me about the car? What are you into? What’s this book about you’re working on?”
“It’s…” She shrugged. If she told him, he’d really want to get all up in her business.
“We’ll talk in just a minute and that’s for damn sure. First, let me come in and get some paper towels I’ll clean it off for you.” He frowned as she still didn’t move. “What’s going on? Is there something in there you don’t want me to see?”
Yes, she should let him see it but then he’d really want to lock her away until he found out whoever did this, and she just didn’t have the time. She tried to block his way but Hank Paterson was too tall and broad-shouldered. And strong. He placed his hands on her upper arms, lifted her, and set her aside as if she weighed nothing. Then he strode into the living room…and stopped short at what he saw.
“Holy shit, Zoe. I mean, really. Holy shit. The car and this? Sadie has good reason to be worried.”
With a strong effort, she pulled herself together or Hank and Sadie might lock her away in a closet.
“These are just someone’s idea of a prank,” she protested.
“A prank? Are you kidding me? Zoe, someone broke into your apartment.” He pinned her with a look. “You have to report this to the police.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No police.” Because it still was possible they’d been involved in the cover-up of Justine’s death.
“Zoe.” Hank stood there, glaring at her. “Okay. When did you find this?”
“Right before you got here,” she told him. “I just got back from Helena.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “This morning? How long were you there? Did you spend the night?”
Yes, and had the hottest sex ever, but I’m not telling you that.
She nodded. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been there the past few days. Three, to be exact. I would have come back last night, but it was raining.”
“And you stayed where?” His face wore a stern expression. She felt like a teenager being grilled by her father.
“At a motel.” And he didn’t need to know the